Changing Fate
by Redluna
Summary: Some believe that fate is written in stone, but, in truth, it is a road. And when that road decides to fork... Anything can happen.


**This can be seen as one of the starting scenes to a much bigger piece I have in mind. Still, I wanted to honor Anne Boleyn with a slightly happy "What If" for today.**

**I hope you all enjoy!**

* * *

When Anne had first been struck with the pains that signaled the start of her labor, she had planned to remain with dignity, as befitted a Queen of England. Any common woman could wail their heads off when giving birth, but royals were expected to remain calm throughout it all.

Still, once her labor began in earnest, Anne found herself wondering how _any_ woman could remain quiet during such an ordeal. Especially with the first pregnancy, which was said to the hardest for all women.

She was barely aware of the murmured encouragements coming from the women on either side of her, although she was grateful to have their hands to clutch onto. The words of her sister, however, still managed to filter through to her, most likely because they were the ones she was longing to hear.

"It's here, Anne, it's here!"

She hardly needed the reminders to push then, for her body seemed quite ready to do so of its own accord, willing her child out into the world. And, with luck, it only took a few contractions of her abdomen for this to be done.

Then, and only then, did Anne allow herself to slump back against the pillows, panting to regain her breath. She was distantly aware of the sound of her baby crying, but then, slowly, she realized that that was the only sound she was hearing in the room. Her eyes snapped open, darting from her sister, to the other lady in waiting at her side, and back again. "What is it?" she demanded. "What's happened?"

"Nothing! Nothing!" She could tell tone that Mary adopted, however, and the way that her hair was being soothed away from her head that this was not truly the case. It was something proven by what her sister said next. "Your Majesty has given birth to a very healthy baby girl."

Anne let out a choked sound then that had nothing to do with the pain still lingering in her body. She wanted to hide her tears, yet she no longer had the energy for it. Instead she turned into Mary's arms, letting her sister press kisses to her brow.

The child was the wrong gender.

It was a horrible thing to think upon the birth of a child, especially the first, when the day should have been filled with celebrations of the baby being more alive and healthy, regardless of its sex. But these were not normal conditions, not by a long shot.

The King of England already had one daughter from his first marriage, the only child the union was able to produce. It was what had prompted him to seek to rid himself of the marriage in the first place, determined to sire a legitimate heir that could keep his country safe from civil war. And when he had decided that Anne would be the mother of this prince she was overjoyed, having already found her heart being snatched up by him in turn.

But now it had all gone wrong.

The birth of a prince would have proven her marriage to Henry more valid than any papal verdict ever could. It would win her the support of the people and silence her enemies once and for all.

Now, however, she would be mocked across the country for her seemingly boastful promises of a son. The Emperor would no doubt be pleased to hear of her failure and the Lady Mary would believe that her prayers had been answered. And Henry… Oh, God, _Henry_…

* * *

Henry did his best to compose himself as he walked through the halls to Anne's chambers. He was determined to find something good in what had occurred. Anne surely knew all the terrible things that this could mean for them and he did not want to greet her with his own displeasure writ clear across his face.

Besides, the birth of a healthy child boded well for the fertility of the mother. Katherine's first pregnancy had ended in a miscarriage and then wasted hope. But Anne had managed to produce a child who showed all signs of being strong, which had to be a good sign. And she was still young, capable of conceiving again without too much trouble. It might be a daughter this time, but it would be a son the next, to be sure.

Henry was jolted from his thoughts, however, as a scream erupted from behind the door to Anne's chambers.

He rushed forward, paying no heed to the page that tried to open the door for him as he flung it open himself and bolted into the Queen's chambers. He was barely able to even see anything once he was inside, however, for seemed that everyone inside the rooms had come alive at once. He finally managed to catch a glimpse into the bedchamber, sucking in a harsh breath when he saw Anne writhing on the great, craved bed.

He caught one of the bustling midwives by the arm. "What is happening?" he demanded. "What has happened to the Queen?!

The girl didn't even bother to bob a curtsey to him as she responded. "We have only just learned that Her Majesty was carrying another child, Your Majesty." She began to shift in Henry's grasp, looking uncomfortable. "Now, if you please Your Majesty, Mistress Jones wanted me to fetch more water."

Henry nodded absently, his grip on the girl loosening so that she could dart away on her task.

_Two_ children!

How could such a thing have been missed? It was true that Anne's stomach had swollen rather more than expected and the child had stirred more frequently within her womb, but Doctor Linacre had assured them that these were all normal signs, especially for a woman carrying a strong son.

Henry voiced no complaint as he was asked to return to outside the chambers. He was too lost in the significance of such an event.

It had only been in the start of their courtship that the Sweating Sickness had ripped through England, seizing Anne in its grasp. Yet, despite falling close enough to death for a priest to be summoned, she was able to regain her strength and survive. Henry had seen it as a miracle, a sure sign that God was watching over the woman who was destined to become the true Queen of England. And now Anne had defied the odds again.

He sunk down into one of the chairs in the hall, determined not to go far while he could still hear Anne struggling to bring their next child into the world. His hands moved across his chest to form the cross before clasping together so that he could pray.

He found that he was praying for Anne to come through this ordeal unscathed as much as he was for the birth of a son.

* * *

Anne was no longer aware of much of what was happening within the birthing chamber. Her grip on her ladies' hands had become white knuckled, her usually sallow cheeks flushed with exertion and dark strands of hair stuck by sweat to her forehead. She didn't have much control over the pained sounds slipping past her lips anymore.

There were some who may have thought that it would be easier for her this time around since she had already experienced the tries of labor once, but nothing could have been further from the truth. Anne found herself having to strain for energy instead, her body exhausted from having already heaved out one child.

She had fallen into a panic when the pains had returned to her, thinking that something must have gone wrong, but everyone had been quick to assure her how far from the truth she was. Instead she had been blessed with another chance, an opportunity to secure her rights and those of her newborn daughter in one fellow swoop.

She would not fail, not again.

Her head shifted slightly on the pillow as the voice of Mistress Jones, the senior midwife, penetrated the fog of her mind.

"I can see the head, Your Majesty! It is time for you to push now."

Anne didn't need the encouragement of her ladies to respond to what the midwife had ordered. She grit her teeth together, summoning the last bit of her strength as she forced herself back up into a sitting position. She felt a wave of relief when she felt the child slipping free from her after only two pushes.

She was hardly even conscious of the way she fell back against the pillows this time. She knew that she couldn't rest quite yet, but it was difficult to deny her body the reprieve it so desperately needed.

She was only able to have it for a second, however, for she was far more aware of the overwhelming silence in the room. Everyone was staring at the infant that Mistress Jones had just cleaned off, wrapping it up snugly in one of the fine cloths that had been sent. Yet, unlike with her daughter, who had come out with a cry already on her lips, this child had yet to make a sound.

Why should that be the case? Unless the child was…

Anne struggled back up into a sitting position, batting away the hands that tried to stop her. If something was wrong with her child then she was determined to see it for herself. "What is it?" she demanded. "Is it…" Her throat constricted around the words, not wanting to voice her own terrible thoughts—_a stillborn baby_.

Mistress Jones was seasoned enough in her practice to know what was being asked of her without having to press for details. "No, Your Majesty," she assured, tone gentle. "He is just a remarkably quiet babe."

It took a moment for the full meaning of what was said to dawn on Anne. "I have a son?" It was a question answered in the beaming faces that surrounded her. A burst of laughter escaped from her, the sound of it bordering on hysteric. God had not abandoned her!

Her brow furrowed a little, however, when Mistress Jones moved to pass the child off to one of her assistants. "What are you doing?" she asked.

"It would be best, Your Majesty," the midwife replied, "if the prince joins his sister in the royal nursery for now. That way you will be able to give your body the rest it needs."

"Nonsense," Anne said. "I am strong enough to hold him." Her daughter had been whisked away before she could even catch a glimpse of the child. It wasn't something that she would let happen again.

"Your Majesty, I really must insist…" Mistress Jones had to bite back a sigh as Anne only held out her arms in a pointed gesture. She might not think it best, but it wasn't her place to argue with the Queen. She moved forward to slip the bundle into the other woman's outstretched arms, following with her own hands and hovering nearby afterwards in case the Queen's grip should falter.

There was no need for her concern, however, for Anne cradled her son tightly against her body. The boy let out a contented coo at the action, his eyes shifting instantly towards his mother.

Mary beamed at such a reaction, placing her hand on her sister's shoulder. "He knows his mother already," she said.

Anne said nothing in response, but a small smile played across her lips. She was unable to tear her gaze away from the little face before her, analyzing every detail. There was a smatter of red fuzz across the boy's delicate skull, serving as a direct stamp of his Tudor heritage. The slender bridge of his nose, along with the plumpness of his tiny mouth, were sure signs of his father as well. The large curve of his eyes, however, came from her, and their dark gray color gave her hope that they might settle into her own deep shade of brown.

"He looks just like His Majesty," Mary remarked.

"Yes." Anne could not deny how much pleasure that brought her. She wanted her child—both of them—to have some resemblance to her, but it was safer for them to be so clearly their father's children. She would not bear anyone trying to hint that they were bastards begot on her by another man.

She passed her son reluctantly back to Mistress Jones so that she could be changed into a fresh shift and the soiled bedding stripped away. It was only then that her son began to wail, squirming around as best he could in his wrappings.

Anne reached up to brush her fingers across his cheeks, hoping to soothe him. Then her eyes shifted to Mistress Jones. "I want my daughter to be brought to me as well. I am sure His Majesty will be anxious to see both his children."

Mistress Jones curtseyed, careful to balance the newborn prince in her arms. She did not need to be told that if anything were to happen to the babe that the full blame would land on her head. "Of course, Your Majesty."

* * *

Henry had shot out of his chair when one of the midwife's slipped out of Anne's chambers at last, but he nearly slumped back down into it just as quickly when he learned that he had a son. He ordered the girl to go fetch his daughter as well, knowing that Anne would surely want both their children with them, only to discover that the command had already been given.

He only had to wait a few minutes more for his daughter to be handed over to him. He was surprised by just how solid of a weight the little girl was and how alert the eyes were that darted up to him. He soon realized, however, as he entered into Anne's bedchamber that he should not have been so surprised.

It seemed as though their children had been determined to inherit the best qualities of their parents, being born with a full burst of strength and intelligence.

Henry leaned in to kiss Anne on the cheek as he sat down to join her on the bed. "Oh, sweetheart, how can I ever thank you for this?" He thought the reverence in his tone was well deserved. He had gone through seven pregnancies with Katherine, all of which ended in disaster except for one. And now Anne, in the first year of their marriage, had presented him with two healthy children.

Anne smiled widely at him, her eyes warm. "Can I name our daughter?" she asked.

"Of course." Such a thing seemed so small compared to all the rest. "And our son too if you wish."

Anne's laughter was full of fondness. "I was hoping to name our daughter Elizabeth, after your mother and mine, and as for our son…" She gazed down at the boy in her arms. "What better name to call him then Henry? He already seems determined to be your mirror image."

Henry had to agree when he looked upon the boy and it made his heart swell with pride. "Those names are perfect, my love." He would never turn down a chance to honor his blessed mother, after all, and Anne's own mother was an honorable woman. "Although we may have to call our boy Harry for now, unless we want the names to be muddled." He ran his finger across the fuzz of hair atop his son's head. "Does that please Your Highness?" he asked. He chuckled as the boy caught his finger in response, gripping onto it firmly.

Anne laughed along with him, beaming when their daughter gurgled at the display. "I would say they both are pleased," she said.

"Good." Henry leaned in to capture Anne's lips with his own. "No one should be unhappy on this day."


End file.
